The Black God's War (19 page)

“Your father has given you the freedom to abandon your army and avoid confrontation at a critical time—if you must.”

“He only asked me to follow my own instincts, General.”

“Then get out of my sight.”

Indrajit and Briraji led the bulk of Pawelon’s army down the southern trail. Earlier, the southern sentry had signaled that a large Rezzian force surrounded them. Briraji said he would have another surprise in store for the invaders.

The further Rao walked the trail with his unit, the more his concern for the northern defenses felt justified. An unexpected rainstorm moved in from the northeast, blocking visibility. He suspected the worst.

A lanky messenger ran through the ranks to Rao and Aayu. Soldiers surrounded the winded runner as he spoke. “My Prince, there’s something strange you may wish to consider. Prior to the arrival of the storm, we received no communications from the northern sentry for a considerable time.”

“Thank you,” Rao said. “Continue on and relay this to our commanders at the citadel.”

The thick slab of rain crept toward them, churning darker and greyer, like the expressionless face of a sorrowful god. Steaming air pressed against Rao’s cheeks, adding palpable sensation to the weight of leading men to face the storm.

Aayu’s jaw hung slack as he searched the sky. “Was it like this when the royal daughter conjured the storm?”

“No. There was no rain at all. But I’m sure she’s out there.”

Rao commanded the men to increase their pace. When they reached the final slope, cliff walls blocked their sight lines to the valley. In another hundred paces they would see the canyon floor again.

As Rao rounded the final corner with his men, a warm gust carrying the odor of the rainstorm blew through his hair. Inauspicious dark weather stretched from the ground to the heavens, waiting near the base of the trail and blocking all visibility beyond it.

Without hesitating, Rao climbed the nearby cliff and balanced himself on a narrow ledge. He addressed his men. “There is something behind that storm, either an army or some spiritual weapon. I’m afraid we don’t have enough forces here after some of our defenses were repositioned. If you go forward with me, accept that we are likely to be overrun.” The words poured out only due to some kind of instinct. “If you join me down this hill, know the sacrifice you are making. If you cannot do this, go back now and fight another day. With luck we’ll stop the dogs again, or at least slow their advance.”

A thousand pairs of eyes looked up at him—probably an inconsequential number contrasted with whatever waited behind the storm. “Master Aayu and I will locate their leadership and attack those targets. We will indicate their position with a signal. Join us and kill their leaders
and we might survive.”

Rezzian roars and the clamor of pounding feet passed through the storm and rose to Rao’s ears.

There are far too many of them.

“Run!” Rao yelled, and every one of his men sprinted toward the valley as Rao jumped to the ground.

Aayu stood before him, his eyes focused with a determined glare. “You are your father’s son after all.”

With no one else able to hear him, Rao said, “Is that what my fear sounds like? Courage?”

They joined the stampede and ran side by side. After dreaming of it for years, they were finally fighting together. In conjunction, their strength would be more than doubled. No one would hurt Aayu—Rao would see to that—and Aayu would defend Rao’s life as if it were his own. The moment heightened Rao’s bond with his brother and ally, his bhai.

Rezzian shock troops emerged through the watery partition and filled the air with their battle screams. Moments later, the storm literally vanished to a clear sky, revealing the armada of warriors and cavalry behind it. Ten lions led the Rezzians, bounding toward the Pawelon front line.

“Lord Galeazzo’s lions,” Rao said to his bhai. “Their king is here. Rezzia’s Haizzem must be with him.”

With his face red from running, Aayu panted and smiled. “Then we’ll kill them.”

Chapter 25: Struggle

ALBINA TROTTED HESITANTLY behind the dark sheet of rain. The mare yanked her head from side to side, reluctant to follow the weather. Whenever the wind stopped, Lucia heard the sounds of mass death at the Strategos’s battle to the south. Duilio wasn’t supposed to engage a large force. Something was wrong.

She rode between Caio and her father, with Ilario on Caio’s other side. Her brother’s grunts and grimaces were a constant reminder of his pain, but she felt powerless to help him. She could pray to Mya to comfort Caio, but Caio had already prayed to his goddess. The gods never answered Lucia’s pleas for compassion anyway.

The army marched behind the wall of water and stayed dry, barely touched by its refreshing mist. No one could see through the rain. The army of Lux Lucis followed the goddesses’ miracle until the storm halted, waiting …

King Vieri bellowed the commands to begin the charge, swinging his falchion in circles through the air as if an ancient spirit possessed him. For the first time in her life, Lucia saw her father in his primal element, red-faced and roaring, commanding his legions like the storied kings of old. For once, she felt proud to be his daughter.

“Pray, children! Beg your gods for victory. Give strength to our men. Disrupt their sages. Destroy their arrows. When the enemy turns to retreat and reposition, finish them all.”

The shock troops rumbled forward and disappeared through the watery plane first by the handfuls, then like a tidal wave crashing forward and swallowing the sands.

Vieri’s eyes homed in on the battle. “Tell your goddesses to stop the rain. Now!” He kicked his chestnut steed into a gallop. “Follow me!”

For one moment, Lucia watched her father ride off into the crowded desert. His sword hung again at his side and he carried the glorious golden shield of Lord Galeazzo, a relic wielded by most of Rezzia’s kings. He yelled a guttural yawp and raised the brilliant disc above his head. He stopped to pray, and Lucia pulled up beside him.

She asked Ysa to dissolve the storm.

Invisible to all mortals, Lord Galleazzo strode beside King Vieri, standing taller than five men. The body of the most commanding god was protected with a full suit of golden chainmail, though he wore no helm. Furry eyebrows and wild, white hair accentuated the aging god’s possessed face. A thick vermilion cape billowed behind his shoulders, bearing an august image of the sun.

Ysa, carry me forward and watch over me.

Albina shot ahead at an extraordinary speed.

Not again.

Lucia leaned forward with one arm against her mare’s right shoulder, keeping her shield close to her body. She sped past her father and rode under the waterfall. The refreshing sensation lasted only a moment. As she moved beyond the rain, the downpour vanished and a strong gust covered her face in dust.

Her vision shook as tremors rattled the canyon. From beneath the red dirt, the ten fabled lions of Lord Galeazzo emerged with full-throated roars, five males and five lionesses twice the size of their natural counterparts. They shook their bodies, sending clumps of red dirt flying in all directions. Lucia raised her shield to cover her face. She looked back to see her father holding his god’s shield over his head, commanding the divine beasts: “Kill their foul sages!”

The lions bounded past Lucia and surged ahead of Rezzia’s legions.

Pawelon’s northern defenses were thin. Instead of clogging the area in front of the trail with long spear formations, the pigs crouched and waited behind the long mounds of dirt stretching across the wide trail’s mouth. Following the lions, waves of Rezzian troops raced up the defensive hills and charged over the top, breaking formation and fighting man to man. Arrows flew from the rear of the Pawelon positions and from the cliffs, dropping a small number of Rezzian bodies to the ground.

Albina galloped with a ferocious spirit, putting the other horses far behind her.
What’s gotten into you?
Lucia pulled on the reins with all her strength and screamed for the animal to stop. It was either too scared or too possessed to listen. Charging soldiers flew past and behind them.

Ysa, you are The Commander of Horses. Stop her!

Deep, conch-like horns blew from within the Pawelon ranks. An eerie tension crowded the atmosphere. Around the leading Rezzian soldiers, sandy air swirled up into small tornadoes, choking men and forcing them to cover their eyes.

Albina raced into the sages’ dark magic.

A shower of tiny stones pummeled Lucia’s armor. A dirty cloud infiltrated her helm, forcing her eyes closed and sending dust up her nose. Albina screamed, but the mare only raced harder.

Further ahead, the lions bawled carnal roars. Terrified Pawelons screamed. The tiny sandstorms dissipated. Lucia opened her eyes. As the Rezzians advanced again, the army’s rowdy cheer must have soared to the citadel itself.

Albina lunged forward like an elegant machine, climbing the first hill even though Lucia pulled on the reins to stop her. From the hill’s vantage, she looked back and saw Ilario on his horse racing toward her, with Caio and her father following him.

Crack!

An arrow shaft smashed against her shield, knocking Lucia sideways. She squeezed the reins and held on, raising her goddess’s shield.
Ysa, protect me and my soldiers!

Her crazed horse surged down the first hill, into the little valley between the first two long mounds. Here, the Rezzian warriors enjoyed a great advantage against a dwindling number of Pawelons.

Albina began climbing the second hill. Having no control over the animal, Lucia pushed off and dove for the ground, clutching Ysa’s shield. The ground knocked the wind from her lungs. Her fingers dug into the dirt, finding no purchase. She tumbled into the second trench, her armor bruising her skin. More dust and dirt coated her mouth and tongue. Unstoppable momentum spurred her down.

She looked up at the pigs.

In the second trench, enemy soldiers still outnumbered the Rezzians. Luckily most were far from her position. But not all. Ilario felt so far away.

Gods! Will they even be able to find me?

She unsheathed Ysa’s white sword as two bearded Pawelon warriors approached and taunted her with feinting short spear thrusts. A Rezzian soldier ran down the hill behind her, yelling “Your Grace, come toward me!”

A spear cut across her cheek with stinging pain. As the Pawelon pulled his spear back, she stepped forward and bashed his weapon with Ysa’s shield.

The attacker shifted back, keeping his grip on the spear. He threw his weapon into the charging Rezzian soldier’s gut.

The second pig came at Lucia from her shield side.

She swung her arm to block his spear thrust, and he lost his balance. With Ysa’s sword leading, she lunged forward and slipped the blade past the edge of his shield, into his gut.

Deep pangs of betrayal came over his brown face as he dropped his shield and weapon. They fell together, her shield between them, his disgusting body beneath hers.

The other pig jumped on her with his knees digging into her back. He pounded her face with his rocky fists.

Her nose stung, her cheekbones felt crushed.